Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls (27 page)

“You desired
to have a baby with my father. Here, right?” She cleared out the rest of the
young woman’s innards and then put her lifeless hand in the empty cavity. “It
may be a little difficult for you now. And to think I was going to let you
live. You have no heart, Mary Kelly. No heart at all.” Eliza gripped the knife
handle with both hands, raised it up in the air and plunged it down into the
middle of the body’s chest. Then she moved the blade back and forth to pry the
sternum apart. When there was a large enough opening she pulled the rest of the
ribcage apart with her bare hands. Bone shards cut into her palms, but she
hardly noticed.

The heart was
still warm when Eliza extracted it, wrapped it in a swatch of fabric, then
placed it down into her bag. Sitting up on her knees, she realized her clothing
was drenched in blood and bits of bone, flesh, and hair. Piece by piece, she
removed her clothing and placed them into the fire. Because the wool was damp,
it was necessary to stoke up the flames and add a log or two to get it nice and
hot and keep it that way until every blood-stained garment was ash. In her
frenzy, she’d sliced her arms and thighs. Fortunately, her skirts had taken
most of the slashes to her legs. The ones on her forearms were a little deeper
but wouldn’t need stitches.

Another piece
of bed linen was torn away to wipe her knife off before putting it away.
Careful not get any more blood on herself, she went over to the water basin,
dipped one end of a clean piece of linen into the bowl then quickly yanked it
out, assuring her no blood would get in the water.

The hearth was
ablaze and lit up the room even better than daylight. Eliza noticed the broken
window pane as she looked around. There was an extra piece of linen she
crumpled up in her hand and set into the open frame. Just in case someone
walking by did the same thing she’d done earlier and peeked in.

All that was
left clean was her chemise and a layer of underskirt. Eliza picked up the
broken wine bottle that held the burning candle and looked around the dark
corners of the room for clothes. Mary’s green bodice and brown skirt were what
she found and quickly put on. There was also a shawl Eliza picked up and
wrapped around her head and shoulders to partially cover her face. One more
time, she went around the room and gathered up what was hers. About to walk out
the door with her medical bag discreetly tucked under her arm and hidden by the
shawl, she saw the hat. Eliza walked over, picked it up and put it on top of
the blazing fire. She looked back at Mary’s body, whose head had turned to face
the wall again.

Not only had
Jack the Ripper evolved.

He had become
the perfect killer.

Chapter

19

The following day was the Lord
Mayor’s Show, complete with a parade and multiple celebrations to honor the
newly-elected Sir James Whitehead. The festivities were in full procession by
noon. Eliza slept in, knowing her family never attended the parade. Lady
Covington refused to stand out in the dreary November weather for anyone. The
Covingtons would honor this year’s elected official by attending the dinner
held by the Royal Courts later in the evening.

Before sitting
down to breakfast, Eliza stepped over to the window above the sideboard, pulled
a curtain open and looked outdoors. A befitting air of gloom came from the sea
in the guise of dark ashen clouds. Even cold, wet weather wouldn’t keep the
throngs of people desperate for something to celebrate in their warm homes, and
soon the news of another murder would be spreading through London streets
faster than the plague.

Eliza knew
they would not be making the Royal Dinner this year. She visualized her father
in his study with his head hung low, emptying his brandy decanter, asking for
another, while grieving over his dead whore. He would get over it soon enough.
Eliza had done a great service for all those whom she cared deeply about.

Now Mary
Kelly’s heart was nothing but ash settled at the bottom of her family’s
kitchen’s hearth. Soon to be shoveled out by Mr. Sutton and put into the trash,
which will eventually make its way into the Thames, and once more end up at the
East End where she belonged.

*   *   *

Life in the
Covington house during the next three weeks played out exactly as Eliza had
imagined. Throughout the rest of November, her father spent most evenings alone
in his study. Lady Covington carried on as though nothing had happened,
although she did seem somewhat merrier than she had been before.

Just as
Professor Huxley had confidentially told her, Eliza graduated from the London
School of Medicine for Women. No honors were given, of course, but she hardly
cared anymore. What she’d learned about herself and the human body elevated her
status above and beyond the classical education. 

Inspector
Abberline congratulated Eliza at the graduation dinner her parents hosted at
the end of the month. “And thank you for your past advice with…Whitechapel,” he
said.

“Have you any
new leads?” she inquired.

The inspector
looked over at Lord Covington who was standing across the room near the punch
bowl with his head hung low. “No miss, none whatsoever—nothing for you to worry
about, though. Best of luck with your nuptials next month and then off to America,
I hear?”

“Yes, sir,”
Eliza said. Henry was standing by her side smiling from ear to ear.

“Blessings to
you both.” Inspector Abberline nodded then walked off toward Lord Covington and
the two men spoke quietly to one another, looking around the room for anyone
who might be watching. Eliza wasn’t concerned. She knew they were proud,
educated men, chasing their tails. As she’d overheard once in the East End pub,
‘they were bumbling idiots.’

Then it was a
great surprise to all the guests when Ann Williams and her husband entered the
room. Eliza quickly walked up and shook hands with her. While Henry spoke to
Sir Jon, Eliza led Ann over to the table covered in seasonal sweets and
delights.

“I never
thanked you,” Ann said softly.

“Please,
there’s no need. You would’ve done the same for me. Things are better for you
at home, I think.” Eliza looked deep into Ann’s eyes.

“Yes, much,
thank you again.”

“And how was
the eating chocolate? All these glorious treats spread out as far as the eye
can see and not a single chocolate. I’ve yet to convince Father it isn’t an
evil thing.”

“Speaking of
evil things,” Ann swallowed and looked down at the floor. “You don’t know
anything about the latest Whitechapel murder, do you?”

“Nothing at
all, but what luck, right?”

“Eliza,” Ann
whispered as if to shush her.

“What is it,
Ann? You can’t tell me you’re not happy with the news. You look absolutely
beautiful this evening.”

Ann was about
to say something more, but Eliza waved Henry and Sir Jon over.

“What is it
dear?” Henry said. He handed her a glass full of bubbling champagne.

“I was just
telling Ann how absolutely beautiful she looks this evening. Don’t you think
so, Henry?”

“Yes, of
course.” He smiled at her, raised his champagne glass and took a sip.

“Wouldn’t you
agree as well, Sir Jon? Ann’s beauty this evening rivals anything else that
ever came out of Wales.”

Sir Jon
coughed and cleared his throat. His face turned red and Henry patted him on the
back. “Are you all right?” he asked him.

“Yes, I’m
fine. I’m fine.”

“Well, I
suppose,” Henry said. “If you were to become ill, a room full of doctors would
be the place to do it.”

Sir Jon agreed
and everyone laughed except for Ann. She stared at Eliza with squinted eyes.
Once more she was about to speak, when Sir Jon took her by the arm, excused
their leaving, then led her over to Lady Covington.

Henry turned
to face Eliza, leaned in, and kissed her on the cheek. “Ah my dear, I’m so
proud you’ve succeeded in this accomplishment I know you’ve been wanting.”

“I am so
happy.”

“I’m sure our
joy will only continue with the wedding and our move.”

“Henry?” Eliza
stepped back so that she could look him in the eyes.

“What is it?
You upset about leaving? I know—”

“America’s
such a big country, Henry. Must we be always confined to New York City?”

Henry smirked.
“Of course not, dear. Father has plans to open banks across the entire country.
We’ll be traveling from one coast to the other and you shall see
all
of
America. And I’m almost certain every place we reside will be in need of an
educated doctor.”

Sudden images
of Henry between the legs of American whores flashed through her mind, and she
immediately tightened her grip around the glass. Before it shattered in her
hand, Eliza remembered the way she’d left Mary Kelly. The prostitute’s
helpless, dead stare with those pale blue eyes in an unrecognizable face
released the tension in her hold.

Eliza smiled
and raised the glass to him.

“To new
beginnings.”

Author’s Note

From August to November in
1888, five women were brutally murdered in London’s East End that were
attributed to Jack the Ripper because of their MO. There were also two murders
that some speculate could have been his “starter kills.” One occurred in the
spring of 1888, and the other in the summer of the same year. Mary Kelly was
his last victim and most vicious murder in London.

Many people
believe that he came to America and began butchering women in a similar style
to the ones in Whitechapel. Reports came from New York City beginning in the
spring of 1889. The bodies of women being found murdered in very much the same
way Jack’s victims had been. These reports continued across the United States
all the way to San Francisco for over more than a decade.

Since then,
there have been hundreds of books written about Jack the Ripper—Who he was, why
he murdered those women and then seemingly stopped, if it was possible he was a
she
, and even that he was an alien from another planet. Could it have
been Royalty? Perhaps a conspiracy? The point is, regardless of all the
theories, these murders remain some of the most memorable and written about
crimes in history.

Rena Mason is a registered
nurse and worked in the operating room for over 12 years. A longtime horror
fan, she currently lives in Las Vegas, Nevada, is a member of the Pacific
Northwest Writers Association, and a member of the Horror Writers Association. Her
short story, “The Eyes Have It,” is in the anthology,
Horror For Good: A
Charitable Anthology
from Cutting Block Press. Her debut novel,
The
Evolutionist
, will be out March 2013 from Nightscape Press. To learn more
about Rena and her upcoming projects, visit her website
www.renamasonwrites.com.